


bad habits are the hardest to break

by TotallynotRemus



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Family Feels, Five isn't tagged but he's there kind of, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, No Incest, Post-Canon, Relapsing, The Woes Of Time-Travel, Whump, and he gets it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 19:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18857482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallynotRemus/pseuds/TotallynotRemus
Summary: So as it turns out, actually staying clean for longer than a few days is a lot harder than Klaus had first anticipated, especially when he hasn’t been fully sober since he was twelve years old and found out about the sweet, sweet numbness that came with a few painkillers after he broke his jaw playing around with mom’s high heels— even if, technically, he’s thirteen again and his body doesn’t yet know anything harder than weed, booze and a few pills now and then.To say things haven’t been easy for Klaus is almost a hilarious understatement, but he’s trying, alright? Swear down, honest to god, trying. That has to count for something.





	bad habits are the hardest to break

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this on my google docs legit since I watched the show, two days after it was released. God help me, it was supposed to be a quick, short and simple oneshot. But now it's DONE and i finally can breathe and write other things.
> 
> ANYWAY hope you guys enjoy it! <3 And please be mindful that while certaintly not my last, this is my first fic for this fandom and so my characterization is not as refined and I had way too much in my head writing it, but i'm still very proud of the result and hope you will like it too. Huge, huge thanks to everyone that helped me keep going, especially Al who helped me a lot in the beginning giving me their honest thoughts!
> 
> The working title for this fic was "Struggling Klaus (Klaus and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day)" and you know what? A bitch was tempted to just leave it like that.
> 
> Please enjoy some good ol' Klaus whump, because the road to recovery isn't easy nor linear <3

So as it turns out, actually staying clean for longer than a few days is a lot harder than Klaus had first anticipated, especially when he hasn’t been fully sober since he was twelve years old and found out about the sweet, sweet numbness that came with a few painkillers after he broke his jaw playing around with mom’s high heels— even if, technically, he’s thirteen again and his body doesn’t yet know anything harder than weed, booze and a few pills now and then.

But even that is off limits now, and so Klaus is stuck being boringly sober with a mind that remembers exactly how good being fucked up and numbed out feels like, all while staying in the horror house they all grew up in almost seventeen years in the past and trying to find a way to prevent an apocalypse they’ve already failed to stop once.

To say things haven’t been easy for Klaus is almost a hilarious understatement, but he’s trying, alright? Swear down, honest to god, _trying._ That has to count for something.

In fact, one of the very first things he did in this timeline was enlist the help of his siblings to raid his old bedroom for hiding spots— every single one that Klaus could remember, and a few that Ben did that had slipped his mind entirely. Some of which didn’t even exist yet, hadn’t yet been discovered and used by his past self, but it still didn’t hurt to be thorough. Klaus hadn’t known then how to deal with his family looking so proud of him— Ben hadn’t stopped smiling since Klaus brought up the entire thing, the weirdo, who knew being alive again would make him so emotional?— but he could get used to it, basking in the attention as a pleasant warmth flooded through him, something that almost felt like hope.

Still it was something else, watching as every nook and cranny was combed through— to see just how many of them there was and have to watch as his siblings kept finding more and more stuff, even this early in his life.

A part of him wanted to salvage what he could; an ugly and insistent little voice in the back of his head telling him to try and talk his way into keeping a bottle or three, maybe lift a baggie when no one’s looking, to joke and laugh and be his usual self until everyone was too annoyed to care and gave up on him again with a lack of surprise that would probably be heartbreaking and he could be allowed to drown in his vices again. It’d be so, so _easy_ to just give in, and then there would be no more screams that only he can hear, no more nightmares and cravings and ghosts that won’t leave him be.

That part was far bigger than he’d ever want to admit, and far more familiar than it probably should be.

The other part of him, however, was just ashamed. Of how far he’d let himself fall, of just how tempted he was. How _weak,_ just like Daddy Dearest always said. Klaus could barely make eye contact with the others during the search, bile rising up his throat and hands that hadn’t stopped shaking since they got there, as he saw everything through new eyes and goddamn, the picture wasn’t pretty.

But he persisted— with a hand on his chest where he can still feel the weight of the dog tags that are no longer there and the other being held by Ben’s, who seemed to simply know what he needed without words— fighting the temptation with a willpower Klaus never knew he had.

And of course, he isn’t the only one struggling to cope with everything.

Being thirteen again turned out to be both a blessing and a curse at the same time— a blessing, because it gives them more time, another chance to fix everything and stop the apocalypse for once and for all; and a curse, because they’re grown adults pretending to be children again, having lost the life they knew and being stuck reliving their traumatic childhoods under the tyranny of a man they call their father— and they’re all still learning how to adapt, with varying levels of difficulty.

From Vanya, who almost ended the world and killed them all, to Allison, who lost her voice and her daughter in the span of one day. To Ben, who is breathing and solid and _alive_ again, and who still occasionally freaks out when the taste of food or the feeling of the hardwood floor beneath him turns out to be too much for someone who spent the last decade feeling nothing at all.

Diego, who’s still grieving the loss of both mom and Detective Patch, for all that they may still be alive in this timeline, and dealing with the feeling of having failed with them, and Luther, who had just finally left Father’s tight grasp on him years too late only to make the same mistakes as him at the cost of his family’s trust— and the fate of the world— and is now once again having to play the perfect little soldier for the man.

Five, who had failed his life’s mission, and just barely got them out of there alive.

Really, when you think about it Klaus has no reason to complain.

So what if he can’t listen to a few types of music anymore, if his bed feels far too soft to sleep on and the sound of a car’s exhaust going off makes him throw himself on the ground to escape grenades that only exist in his mind? If the ghosts sometimes make him want to tear his ears and eyes out with their howling, and the cravings at times got so bad he’d wish he were dead? So what if sometimes he will only go to sleep hours after everyone else, exhausted to his bones and with tears going down his face, because he’d been busy trying to conjure the one he’d loved and lost, only to keep failing over and over again?

Things are bad for everyone. He’s not special for it.

Plus, they’re all trying so damn hard to do it right this time around, not just for Vanya but for all of them, that it feels wrong somehow to bring any more attention to it when they’ve got so much on their plate already and have better things to focus on.

Like the end of the world, for example. A pretty big thing at that.

So Klaus does what he’s always done best, and takes it all with a smile on his face and a witty remark on the tip of his tongue— sharing all the best parts of recovery with his siblings, soaking up all the attention and hugs and _pride_ he gets from them, while hiding all the ugliness, all the nightmares and the grief, compartmentalizing it all and burying it so deep he’d almost fool himself too, because he’ll get better— he _is_ getting better, already— and so it doesn’t matter in the end anyway. Klaus is handling it.

Until now.

He hadn’t meant to find the pills.

It was an accident, really. Klaus was having a bad day, a truly spectacular one at that; the kind of bad day where things just won’t let up and keep piling more and more shit on you until you simply can’t take it anymore, and then it piles some more, just to top it off.

And like any bad day would, it started with Klaus waking up drenched in his own sweat and tears, begging and crying and screaming his throat sore from dreams of the mausoleum, of that damned war he never belonged to in the first place and of Dave, who was good, so good it hurt, and then was gone. Dave, who was the first person Klaus ever truly loved more than anything else, more than even himself.

Dave, who he may never see again.

Because he knows. Deep down, Klaus knows that for all he may talk big about staying sober for him, with the timeline changes it’s likely he’ll never get to travel back to meet Dave this time and God, all the talks about time travel and probabilities make his brain hurt, but nothing will ever hurt more than the thought of Dave not recognizing him— the thought of Dave taking one look at him and not knowing who the thirteen years old boy he currently looks like is, not knowing who _Klaus_ is, because everything they’ve gone through together, the nine months and twenty-three days that for Klaus both felt too short and like a lifetime, for him never happened at all. And Klaus can feel all his hopes of ever being able to conjure and see the love of his life again just shatter and die at the fear of seeing no spark of recognition behind those pale blue eyes.

Then there was dear old Sir Reginald Hargreeves, alive and just as heartless as ever with that annoying little penchant of his for torturing his adopted children, and Klaus had to spend the entire day stuck with him ‘training’ because of course his father picked the worst possible time to show some interest in the newly sober and focused Number Four, of course.

And to make it all worse, the cherry on top of the shitfest cake, the ghosts have been acting up again.

Klaus has been getting better at the whole learning how to control his powers thing, learning how to keep the ghosts at bay without the drugs, but he still can’t switch it off and they’re still awful— with their disjointed rambles and hollering and gruesome wounds, never seeming to leave him alone. They followed him after father finally dismissed him from the training-slash-torture session, not understanding why Klaus wouldn’t listen and help as they begged for things he simply couldn’t do. Refusing to shut up when all Klaus wanted was some silence so he could lick his own wounds in peace, so he could finally just _breathe._

So after that terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day from beginning to end, Klaus just couldn’t wait a second longer before running to his room to try and have a moment of peace and quiet, and that’s when he finds them— inside a little ziploc bag in a hiding spot long forgotten, looking almost godsent at the moment— and it clicks in his mind what he needs to do next.

He needs a hit.

Just one, to calm his nerves _—_ he’s been sober for almost weeks now, what’s one day? What difference will it make?

Tomorrow Klaus will be back to being annoyingly sober and aware and no longer the family disappointment (hah, as if). But today he needs this, he needs the wonderful little pills he’s promised everyone he didn’t miss but so badly did.

He ignores the little voice in the back of his mind that strangely sounds like Ben telling him to not do it as he opens the baggie almost in reverence, self-restraint all but forgotten the moment Klaus caught sight of the pills, but before he can fish out a pill or two his bedroom door opens and the real Ben comes through, almost as if summoned by thought— _and Ben, Ben, why does it always have to be Ben anyway? Why can’t he ever just let him have this, even now that he’s alive and can finally leave Klaus alone?—_ stopping mid-sentence as he takes in what he’s walked into.

And Klaus tries to hide it, but he knows it’s too late. He knows it by the look on his brother’s face and the way he’s slowly creeping closer, as if approaching a startled wild animal that may flee at any sudden movement. _Scheisse!_

“What do you have there, Klaus?” Ben asks careful, oh so careful, sounding hesitant in a way he hadn’t heard in years now.

Klaus hadn’t missed it.

“Where?” he plays dumb, scoffing dismissively when the other just stares at him unimpressed. “Oh, you mean this? Nothing, nothing at all. Just my old diary, you know how it is to be a teenager again— so full of hormones and angst,” Klaus tries again, flippant enough, giving Ben his best winning smile. “I have about seventeen years worth of drama that I’m just dying to write on it.”

Not that attempting to throw him off with humor has ever really worked with Ben, but still, it never hurts to try.

“I was actually looking for my gel pen— do you remember it? The sparkly green one, with the fluffy end?”

Ben sighs. It didn’t work this time either, it seems. “Show me what’s behind your back.”

“No, I told you already, it’s private! No reason to get all nosy, jeez. What, wasn’t it enough to haunt me all those years, being my very own ghostly Jiminy Cricket? You want to read my diary now too?”

“Klaus!”

In the corner of his eyes he sees the exact moment Diego catches wind of what’s going on and comes to watch by the door, unknowingly walking through the ghost of a woman with a broken neck that wails nonstop day and night, and Klaus starts to panic. He laughs, a touch too desperate and maniac to be believable but that was never the goal here in the first place. Klaus doesn’t need them to believe him— when has any of them ever done that?— it’s too late for it now, he just needs them _out._

“Okay, okay! You got me.” Klaus takes a deep breath, always the showman, making sure to look just genuine enough to hook them in. Then he grins. “It’s porn. I was about to have a little me time, you know, do a manual override. Forgot to lock the door, that’s on me. Sorry about that. And you know that Five was right? Going through puberty again major blows.”

He can see the disappointment in Ben’s face, see the tick in Diego’s jaw that indicates he’s about to lose his patience. Klaus refuses to feel guilty about it, even if it kind of makes him want to laugh so hard until he breaks down crying.

It’s a far cry from how they looked at him before.

But so what if wants to get high again, if he wants something to take the edge off? That’s none of their business. Hell, Klaus has earned it after the nightmare of a day he’s had, even Ben would have to agree with him. (No, he wouldn’t.) Surely it can’t be that bad. Just this once can’t hurt, he’ll stop after. It’s justifiable. (Then why is he hiding the damn oxy in the first place? Why is he so desperate to make them leave?)

So Klaus keeps going, never one to be afraid of taking things too far.

“Though at least now I know I’ll bloom like a graceful butterfly. Can’t wait to have my beautiful face again, I’m so not looking forwards to all the pimples I remember having.” He pauses for a brief second before suddenly lighting up, as if something had just occurred to him. “Hey, can you believe I’m a virgin again? That’ll be fun, maybe I’ll even get to remember it this time. Will have to wait a few years until then though.”

Klaus gives them a fake pout, ignoring the uncomfortable look on their faces. That’s what he was looking for, after all.

“But poor Luther, I mean, he had just finally popped his cherry!”

“Klaus—”

“Do you reckon that he’ll have more or less chance now that he’s no longer a furry?” Klaus wonders out loud, interrupting Diego.

He quickly frees one hand to rub his own— now hairless— chin, making a show of thinking it through, though the way it’s shaking probably lessens the impact of it by half. Klaus wishes he had both hands to make it more effective.

He wishes he’d taken the pills when he had the chance.

Ben doesn’t seem amused though. “What’s in the baggie, Klaus?”

Klaus shakes his head, still pretending to be lost in thoughts— though really, it’s an honest question, and something he’ll probably have the time of his life taking a crack at later. Not now though, he’s not really in the mood for it and would rather be doing something else, something he’d been rudely interrupted from, but maybe at a later date. He can already picture Luther’s awkward face.

That seems to be the last straw. Diego snaps, finally, but his voice is a lot softer than Klaus had expected, more worried than angry.

“S-show us— show us your hand, bro. Now. Come on, b-both of them.”

Klaus looks at his brothers, at the determined way they’re both staring down at him, and feels his chances of escaping this situation getting more and more unlikely. Shit, they’re doing this, then. That’s going to suck, he’d been hoping to avoid it entirely.

By the time he opens his mouth to try and answer them though— or to whine at their unfairness, or to bullshit some more to gain time, which to be completely fair, was just as likely— the silence had gone on for too long, and they took his hesitation as a sign he wouldn’t budge. It’s only because of his years of experience growing up with six siblings his age that Klaus manages to dodge just in time as Diego tries to go around him and grab for it in one quick movement, patience running thin. Which, what the fuck. Rude.

“Alright, okay! Listen, it’s just— it’s nothing, okay? It’s just some pills, man. Just some oxy.” He chuckles, trying to show them how it really isn’t that big of a deal, the baggie still safely hidden behind him. “That’s nothing, really. I’ve done way worse stuff before. What’s a few little pills?”

Diego sighs, as if he hadn’t known already before he even approached them. “Shit, Klaus.”

“How did you even get those?” Ben asks, looking and sounding so lost and confused that for a second Klaus is back at the first few weeks after his funeral, when neither of them quite knew how to cope. “You were with Dad all day, when… I mean, I thought we got rid of everything, that you were really going to try this time around?”

“I am!” Klaus tells him, perhaps a little desperate. “I _am_ trying, Ben, I swear. I’m trying so goddamn hard.”

And maybe he’s shit at showing it, relapsing again like this and disappointing his siblings, but he _is._

Except right now it feels like his entire world is falling apart at the seams he’s worked so hard to stitch back together, and Klaus wants nothing more than to numb himself again, just for a moment, just so he can maybe sleep a little, and then tomorrow he can try again at acting like he’s not broken beyond repair and there’s still hope for him yet.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to find them, it was an accident. But I, I can’t— I need it, Ben. You understand, right? Ben, Benny, Benny-o. You have to understand. I’m breaking down here, I need them. It’s just this once, I promise. Then I’ll stop. Just the pills.”

Klaus hates how it feels like a script they’ve already gone through before, the same old song and dance.

But what does it say about him then, that he doesn’t know how else to convince his brothers when all the words have been said before, over and over again, and it wouldn’t be the first time that he breaks that very same promise— when he doesn’t even believe himself, deep down, and yet still tries?

He’s not the only one growing tired of it.

Ben shakes his head. “Klaus, we’ve done this before. You know that’s not how it works.”

And Klaus would rip his own hair out in frustration if he could, because Ben’s not understanding— _why aren’t they understanding?_

“No, see, you’re not listening to me!”

He thinks he might be hyperventilating but he honestly can’t be sure; the only thing Klaus can focus on right now is the feeling of the little plastic bag against his hand and the overwhelming urge to down what’s inside of it until the world feels right again, no matter how many pills it may be necessary for Klaus to make that happen.

Ben tries to reach for him, stepping closer— and Klaus doesn’t even know if he meant to go for the baggie or if he was simply trying to calm him down, but the reaction is still instantaneous. On reflex, he moves to protect what’s in his hands, shoving Ben off with an angry “Fuck off!” as his elbow connects with the other’s chest and pushes him away, perhaps a lot harder than he’d first intended— though to be honest, Klaus hadn’t been thinking at all— because in an instant Ben is on the ground, blinking up at him.

Klaus yelps, as if he’d been the one hit instead. “Oh shit, Ben!”

“Klaus, what the fuck?”

Klaus ignores Diego’s question, focusing instead on the brother that’d just fallen on his ass on the hardwood floor because of him, and lets himself fall down on his knees to join him there. He tries his best to fight the nervous laughter that still manages to burst out of him before he can stop himself, covering his mouth as he tries to process what he’s just done. Shit, shit, shit.

He never, ever wanted to hurt Ben.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that, I’m still used to you being, you know,” Klaus says, gesturing at Ben’s entire self before giving him an apologetic shrug, “more _dead,_ I guess. I forgot. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to, Benny. I just need them.”

“Hey, no, it’s fine,” Ben assures him, even though it’s _not,_ it’s very much the opposite of fine. “I get it. I forget it too, sometimes.”

Klaus knows— it still takes Ben a few seconds to react to things sometimes, used to being only an observer, and often he will give one of his sarcastic commentaries only to be startled when someone else other than Klaus answers to it. It’s a slow progress, just like Vanya and learning she’s loved— but even he knows it’s a weak excuse, however true it may be, and that it’s nowhere near enough.

He has no idea why Ben is pretending that it is, he’s never been one to shy away from calling Klaus out on his bullshit before.

“I’ll take it as payback for that punch.”

Klaus shakes his head, looking down at the hands that barely feel like his own anymore, so young and bare. He misses his tattoos. All of them, really, but his HELLO and GOODBYE ones the most, after having them for nearly a decade. Now only the Academy tattoo their father branded them all with is left and it feels like a slap on the face.

“I deserved that punch, you didn’t deserve me being an asshole.”

“We’re all assholes,” points out Ben. “It’s a family trait.”

That makes Klaus smile, but it’s a sad attempt, too shaky and wet. Can’t really argue with that.

And clearly Diego agrees too, because he doesn’t even try to hide his snort. “He’s got a point there, b-buddy.”

Klaus looks up, ready to comment, only to notice it’s not just the three of them anymore and the rest of his siblings are now all there— not yet inside his bedroom, almost as if afraid to intrude, but still there, staring at him. Watching the scene unfold. Almost immediately Klaus looks down again, before he could catch either the disgust or pity inevitably in their eyes. The fuck-up fucked up again. He doubts any of them is surprised.

Hell, maybe they’d all been waiting for it already. It was bound to happen anyway.

Ben touches his arm, and Klaus flinches.

“Talk to us, Klaus,” he says, softly, almost begging.

And Klaus wants to, but he still falters, not knowing how to put into words the hurricane of messy thoughts and emotions inside of him without turning them all into a joke somehow— and how could he, when none of them have ever learned how to properly talk with each other, so much so that it caused the freaking apocalypse? Emotionally stunted, Five called them more than once, and he had a point there. Communication was never one of the Hargreeves family’s forte.

Klaus never needed words before, not when Ben had always been right there next to him, haunting his scrawny ass 24/7 since the day they were nineteen and the unimaginable happened. Not when pretending had always been a better option.

But Ben deserves better than that. So Klaus makes an attempt, however pitiful of one.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get to see Dave again,” he manages to blurt out, and it hurts to finally say it out loud.

God, screw whoever said talking about things help you feel better, they don’t know a fucking thing, because all he feels is like absolute shit.

Klaus can feel his brothers hesitate, not having expected that. He keeps going.

“I’ve been trying to conjure him, you know? Every night,” he says, because once he’s started he can’t seem to stop, wanting to rip the band-aid off in one go. And hey, they asked him to talk. “Every night, just to see him again. But I can’t.”

He laughs, but it’s a bitter, humorless thing— and wonders if that’s what heartbreak sounds like.

“That’s the thing about changing the past, see. Things _change._ ”

And the fact that they even met and managed to have all those months together in the first place is nothing short of a miracle— or maybe miracle isn’t the right word for it, considering what he knows of God and her opinion of him, but something like it. An addict from the future and a soldier from the past… Klaus doesn’t know why he was ever naive enough to believe it would last. Nothing good in his life ever does.

But then he thinks about all the whispers shared in the middle of the night as they held each other— full with promises of a small little cottage away from the city and the ghosts, of a hoard of cats they’d adopt and name ridiculous things, and of a life together after the war— and remembers why.

Dave always had a way about him that made Klaus believe in anything, as long as he was the one saying it.

Maybe because he always believed in Klaus, too.

“Oh,” Diego finally says after a few awkward seconds, almost unaware of himself. “Shit.”

Klaus can’t help but nod at that, almost amused, because oh shit indeed, querido hermano. That’s a poetic way to put it.

An uncomfortable silence falls upon the room as his siblings let his words and the implications of it sink in while Klaus does his best to not think too hard about them at all, afraid he’d just lose it right there and then. If only he could take the fucking oxy in peace.

He almost jumps out of his skin when a hand touches his shoulder and squeezes it— and it’s such a Diego gesture, trying to comfort him the best he can because he was never any good with words, that Klaus makes sure to look up at him and share a sad excuse of a smile in thanks, genuinely grateful. Such a big brother, even now that Klaus is almost ten months older than him.

He does however jump when Ben pulls him into a hug when he’s least expecting it, and suddenly, one by one, all of Klaus’ walls just collapse and he’s left clinging to the touch Klaus didn’t even know he’d been desperately craving. Klaus thinks he might be crying.

He can’t find the energy to care.

Diego is the first to speak up again, once Klaus is done embarrassing himself in front of the whole family by crying like a baby without having at least some mascara on to run down his face dramatically during it, which honestly is just a shame. He doesn’t say he’s sorry or any nonsense like that, which Klaus is thankful for, never one for the pity thing.

Instead Diego asks in the quietest of voices: “How did you find the pills?”

Klaus bristles. He can hear the baggie crumple inside his closed fist, still safe.

He sighs. “I told you already, it was an accident!” Klaus tells him, hating how tired and defensive he sounds but hating how nobody seems to trust his word for it even more, even if he knows deep down he doesn’t deserve that trust. “I forgot about it, okay? Pogo fixed the hole behind my wardrobe when we were like fourteen, I didn’t even remember it still existed now.”

“Woah no, hey, I hear you,” Diego rushes to assure him, holding his hand up as a sign of peace, and Klaus nods, listening. “I hear you, okay? I believe you. But just t-tell me Klaus, how… How did you find it?”

Klaus frowns, confused, as Diego keeps looking at him expectantly until it hits him what the other is trying to say.

_How did he find it?_

It wasn’t in an obvious spot, an easy place to stumble upon on accident and find. He tries to think back to earlier and finds that he can’t. He can’t remember what he’d been doing nor his thought process behind it, why he’d even look behind the wardrobe— all Klaus can remember is how overwhelmed he’d felt, how it’d all been too much for him and he wasn’t really thinking, just wanting to make it stop.

_How did he find it?_ He looks at Ben, who’s staring at him with a resigned kind of sadness. _How? How?!_

Klaus can feel himself start to panic, his mind going at full speed behind his eyes as he tries to make sense of things. He opens his hand and stares at the little pills, the same ones he’d felt so relieved to find not long ago— but now all he can feel is dread. Dread, and shame. _Did he look for them?_ He’s not so sure he didn’t, anymore. All and any certainty he had crumbling down into dust.

When Klaus speaks up again, his voice is broken, sounding lost and every inch of the child he currently looks like.

“I don’t know.”

_Had he even really forgotten about the pills, or had he been subconsciously saving them for later just in case he ever needed a hit?_

Ben nods, and there’s no judgement in his eyes. He holds his hand out to Klaus who gives up the baggie without a fight, defeated, and gives him a small smile that somehow only serves to make Klaus feel even more like a failure. He doesn’t deserve that support. Not when all he’s done in the past decade or so is let him down and force him to watch as Klaus fucked up time after time.

“Do you want me to get rid of them for you?” Diego asks once Ben’s handed him the pills, and Klaus just nods in answer.

He doesn’t trust himself to do it alone.

Ben gets up. “I’ll look for you headphones,” he offers, and unlike Diego he doesn’t wait for his answer before springing into action.

Klaus blinks at that, but doesn’t ask how Ben knows to do it— he knows Klaus better than anyone else, alive again or not, and Ben doesn’t need to still be able to see the ghosts to know the signs of when they’re being too much for him and that music always helps drown them out. And it won’t have half the songs his old-future one had (will have?), but it’s still a welcome comfort nonetheless.

He finally risks looking at his siblings, and is surprised to find they look… concerned, if a bit sad.

But not disgusted. Not pitying or disappointed or even angry at him for wasting their time. Just genuine concern, genuine _care,_ and Klaus doesn’t know how to feel about the fact it takes him a moment to recognize the look at how unfamiliar it is directed at him without at least a pitch of disregard added in the mix. He doesn’t understand. How can they look at him like that? Like he’s not a lost cause, like he’s not a complete fucking mess— Klaus isn’t worth it, he’s never been, so how can they still care? _Why?_

Vanya speaks up, and that’s when Klaus realizes he’s asked it outloud. “Of course we care,” she says, her voice more sure than he’s ever heard her sound their entire lives. “Klaus, of course we care about you. You’re our brother.”

He shakes his head a little at that, not really in denial but confusion. He knows deep down that it’s true, but.

But.

“Maybe we can paint each other’s nails? You know, like the old times,” Allison suggests, and _she_ doesn’t sound sure at all, giving him a small watery smile as she steps inside the room. “I remember it used to soothe you.”

It used to keep his hands busy too, Klaus doesn’t point out.

“I’m afraid my hands are a bit too shaky for that,” he says instead, genuinely sorry.

“That’s fine!” insists Allison. “Vanya and I can do your nails, then paint each other’s. It’ll be fun. We can make it a day!”

Vanya doesn’t seem to mind not being asked about it first, lighting up in that same heartbreaking way she always does whenever she’s included in something now. Alright then. Klaus nods, accepting defeat when he sees it and only hoping he doesn’t look half as pathetic and overwhelmed as he feels right now, though knowing his luck the chances aren’t good.

“I, uh… I can ask mom to make us something, if you guys want some snacks too. Maybe the chocolate chip cookies you always liked?” asks Luther, and he looks a little uncomfortable, as awkward as ever, but sincere too. Klaus is touched he even remembers, it’s been almost a decade now.

For all that he’s always been accused of being an attention whore, Klaus finds himself not knowing what to do with himself now with all this attention. And maybe he hesitates for a few seconds too long, because Vanya speaks up again. Klaus supposes that from everyone, she’d be the one to understand what he’s feeling right now the most.

“It’s alright. We’re here for you, Klaus,” she says, her eyes shining, before adding: “This time.” Because she’s never let any of them pretend things weren’t different before, even with her own mistakes as well.

He looks around the room, looks at the face of each sibling, and for the first time he believes it.

They’re going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to talk to me on tumblr @ my tua blog bentacles-hargreeves, or even @ my main remuslupinsmiled, where I'm up to talk about literally anything and am almost always online!
> 
> Thank you for reading and please don't forget to leave kudos and leave a comment telling me your thoughts, they feed the hungry author's soul! <3 Sorry for the weird pacing and the lack of Five.
> 
> Cheers! <3
> 
> (Also I just wanted to say that idk about what will happen in s2 and I really hope Dave will come back, this is just an what if situation that just simply wouldn't leave my mind!! Please give Klaus some happiness 2k20)


End file.
